


if you love him, let him go

by perennials



Series: the hormonal high schooler's guide to falling in love [5]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, tomfoolery and hijinx you owe me a soda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 04:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7251736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennials/pseuds/perennials
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternatively, you may wish to throw him into a pool to ascertain your feelings for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you love him, let him go

**Author's Note:**

> they're older?? like, seventeen or so. patience is a virtue is set two years before this; like children and distraction are probably in the same year  
> also shoutout to my friend meg for beta-ing, you're the best

In life there are bad days, there are bad _bad_ days, and then there are horrible, downright depressing days that make even the most well-adjusted of persons want to fling themselves into the fucking sun. This week, Killua decides, must be full of such days.

 

The exact moment he realizes the week is going to be an absolute nightmare is when he steps into the doorway on Monday afternoon, school bag slung over one shoulder and chocolate smoothie in hand, and finds himself being greeted by an extra butler.

 

The butler-imposter has bright red hair streaked with purplish-pink and sports the most bizarre-looking suit the poor boy has ever seen. When Killua tries to knee him in the stomach he blocks the attack gracefully with the back of his hand, and when he straightens out to his full height of a hundred and eighty-seven centimeters there is an obnoxious, Cheshire-cat smile plastered across his powder-white face.

 

"Welcome back, young master Killua." Hisoka bows again. Somehow even that insignificant action is dripping with condescension, plus something slimier and more stomach-churning that he can't quite pin down.

 

Killua flips him off and stalks up to his room.

 

⌘

 

Between Monday and Friday Killua's lunch is snatched three times, he finds worksheets and notes missing twice, and faces faceless intruders in the shower in the form of mysteriously billowing curtains and doorknobs that turn themselves another two times. In addition, Hisoka takes it upon himself to visit the diligent teenager at least once a day to wax lyrical about the birds and the bees and the weather and whatever else he can get his mind on. Killua figures he must be nocturnal, because these visits never take place before midnight.

 

All in all, it's a terribly unconducive environment for studying, but study he must, because the mid year exams are next week, and Killua's not about to let his top spot be taken by anyone else in the level. He'll die before the gold star next to his name does. Killua makes sure everyone in the family is aware of this.

 

"Your friend's fucking insane," Killua informs Illumi through gritted teeth. He's been hanging around in Killua's room for the last half an hour or so, evidently bored without Hisoka by his side. Hisoka had left to peruse the streets in search of ~~entertainment~~ more people to piss off, and has been gone for the better part of the day.

 

"Oh, you mean Hisoka?" Illumi wonders aloud. Killua nods stoutly. "He's not my friend, and he's not really insane, probably. Just a bit weird."

 

" _You're_ fucking weird." Heaving a massive sigh befitting of someone many times his age, Killua returns to the stack of chemistry notes on his desk.

 

⌘

 

"Illumi's friend is nuts," Killua tells Silva next.

 

"Your brother trusts him enough to bring him home, so he can't be _too_ shady of a character. Anyway, Illumi definitely won't let him lay a finger on you, if that's what you're worried about," Silva rumbles, resting a reassuring hand on Killua's shoulder.

 

Killua shrugs his hand off. "Hisoka's not his friend," he says under his breath as he slinks out of his father's office.

 

⌘

 

"Illumi's friend needs serious help." Having exhausted his options, Killua decides to approach Kikyo as a last resort.

 

"Oh, Killua, but Illumi's never brought anyone over before! This is such a good opportunity for him to improve relations with other people, it's like our son's finally learning to make friends. Illumi is the one that needs help, and I think this Hilary boy can provide it." Kikyo tears up halfway through her riveting speech and has to be led away, sniffling, by a stony-faced Kalluto.

 

"Hisoka's not his _friend_." Killua kicks a wall.

 

He regrets it afterwards. The kicking a wall bit.

 

⌘

 

Long story short, Killua gets almost no revision done at all, weird-colored paint spattered all over his belongings, four torturous, sleepless nights, and ends up missing the deadline for the physics Olympiad application, on top of everything else. Even the constant, comforting presence of Gon in school doesn't elevate the situation much.

 

He's hit rock bottom, Killua thinks. And since he's hit the metaphorical bottom, he might as well hit the literal bottom, as well.

 

⌘

 

“I’m going to jump!” Killua yells from where he’s squatting at the edge of the diving board. It's two p.m on Friday afternoon, and the student council president's favored threatening something along the lines of suicide over optional study hall in the library.

 

A barrage of responses, ranging from “don’t do it, president! We love you!” to “you take one step off that diving board and you are fucking _dead_ ” floats along on flat waves of late afternoon heat and hits him square in the face. Killua squints at the blurry gallimaufry of figures clustered along the sides of the swimming pool, a frown glued uncomfortably to his face like his hair is to his forehead.

 

Rocking forward on the balls of his feet, he peers over the edge into the depths of the pool beneath which, to be frank, are not very deep (a stunning 2.1 meters, in fact). The water’s a clear, pleasant shade of aquamarine; he’s reminded vaguely of soda pop bottles and blueberry sorbets, tangy summery scents that percolate gently through the atmosphere. He sways. Not because of the heat, but because he feels like swaying, or so he tells himself. So he sways.

 

“You’re too young to die,” Biscuit wails from ground-level. She’s practically at her wits end, twisting her hands together in all sorts of terrifying configurations as she worries over the fate of the school’s star studded honor roll student. Realistically speaking, dropping into the pool from such a height _should_ do no great harm to the boy— it's only because of the impending mid year exams that the teachers'd been in such a frantic state when they'd called and informed her that one of her charges had, well, defected. If Mr. Zoldyck twisted an ankle or inhaled so much as one spoonful of chlorinated pool water, then it was highly likely that he'd be out of commission for the next couple of days, effectively barring him from sitting for any of his papers. This, they could not afford to have happen. And so Biscuit had come to the scene herself to ensure his well-being, survival, and ability to function in the greater scheme of things.

 

Initially Biscuit had dared to hope that perhaps the younger Zoldyck, having more self-control (and better conduct grades, and better grades overall) than his older brother, would not pose to her the same brand of heart-stopping problems Illumi had when he’d been under her reluctant wing in his time, but it seems she'd been wrong. All Zoldycks are deeply troubled, Biscuit concludes solemnly as she shouts another death-threat at Killua, her voice rising above the static buzz of the surrounding throng.

 

Unfortunately, everyone’s fretting and worrying seems to have the opposite effect on Killua. “Fuck yes I’m going to die,” he declares vigorously, egged on rather than discouraged by their efforts. Triumph gleams in his eyes like a gold medal— the gold star that everyone knows will go beside his name in the school’s hall of records, the gold cutlery he dines with in the Zoldyck estate, the 24 carat gold edging on his future.

 

Biscuit opens her mouth to hurl another fiery insult, but something catches her eye before the words are out of her mouth.

 

There’s a figure ambling up to Killua from behind, someone with a distinctive frame and an endlessly familiar stride. Whispering bubbles up amongst the students, silvery wisps of conversation that trail off almost intentionally into the next, overlapping into each other like the fine layers of a cake.

 

Pulling her attention back to Killua, Biscuit sees something like relief flash briefly across his face and vanish almost immediately after, as Gon Freecss, football star and alleged conspirator (for what exactly, no one’s quite sure, all they know is that they’d rather the term conspirator than something more forthright like, say, _significant other_ ) steps up onto the diving board.

 

Even in his half-dazed state Killua notices the ground dipping under his feet and whirls around like a very unsteady drunk to face Gon.

 

"C'mon, Killua, let's go back," Gon tries, looking for the life of him like he's fending off a huge grin.

 

"Leave me alone," Killua grumbles, and in the blink of an eye wild, self-sacrificial anger gives way to a more tempered sulkiness. He looks embarrassed that Gon has to bear witness to this less-seen side of him, pinking noticeably around the ears.

 

On the contrary Gon seems quite unaffected. "I know you're tired, and the week has been shit," he starts soothingly, like one might when dealing with a child. "If you promise not to hurl yourself into the pool, we can go to my place after school and stop by McDonald's on the way— my treat."

 

The deal Gon offers is a tempting one, and Killua is almost inclined to give in, until he remembers: mountains and mountains of practice papers and carefully color-coded revision notes and the looming horror-esque faces of Illumi and his creepy _acquaintance_ (who shall not be named, for Reasons), all waiting for him when he comes home. He flinches under the weight of this revelation. "I'm not a kid. And a dip in the pool with our resident mermaids still sounds more appealing, so."

 

To emphasize his words, Killua turns back around, away from the ever-so-infuriating Gon and his stupid, sugary sweet invitation.

 

"Goddamnit, Killua—"

 

Gon catches his wrist halfway; Killua responds with a squeak of protest.

 

"Let me go."

 

"Nu uh uh, that ain't happening."

 

"Letmego."

 

"Look at me, Killua."

 

Killua looks at Gon.

 

(The bastard looks unbelievably good even dressed in standard-issue uniform (a plain white shirt and long blue pants), sweat beading on his brow. There's a sympathetic smile playing on his lips, and the hand he has closed around Killua's wrist is hot, hot, hot.)

 

Killua looks away.

 

"If you come any closer, I'll jump."

 

"You're going to jump either way, aren't you?"

 

"I'll do it, I swear, I really wi—"

 

And then he trips on thin air and he's free-falling backwards and he's...stopped falling, and Gon's hand is _burning_ in his grip.

 

Note the word _his_ , namely, Killua's, because at the critical moment it's not Gon that grabs his hand like a lifeline, but Killua that latches onto his.

 

They hold each other's gazes for a while like star-crossed lovers tend to do at pivotal points in a drama or a soap opera. Meanwhile off to the side the dwindling crowd lets out a collective gasp and proceeds to hold its breath, eagerly awaiting the next development in this bizarre stage play with no pre-written script. Biscuit passes out in a nearby bush.

 

"Oh," Killua says.

 

Seconds pass.

 

Gon lets go.

 

⌘

 

Apparently sleep deprivation and emotional rollercoastering not only impedes one's ability to think properly, but also their motor skills, and thus by extension their swimming prowess. While Killua does drop like a rock into the 2.1 meter-deep pool alone, not long after Gon ends up diving in after him to save the flailing boy from imminent death.

 

When they get to the nurse's office Gon is still laughing, snorting, chuckling even as his companion continues chattering and shivering and shaking. They keep the lights off, because teenagers have an affinity for semi-dark, enclosed spaces, and leave the recently revived Biscuit outside the door, because every teenager also desperately craves such things as privacy, especially when changing.

 

The nurse's office is empty, thanks to a timely coinciding of their visit with her departure for one of the year one's classrooms to assist in yet another explosive argument of some sort. The assignment of roles happens silently and smoothly: Killua drops down in one of the ripped leather sofas crowded around the coffee table while Gon sets about getting a fresh change of clothes for them both.

 

"What size shirt do you wear?" Gon asks casually as he rifles through a drawer of collared uniform shirts.

 

Killua draws the damp towel tighter around his shoulders. "Just get me the smallest one."

 

"A'ight." The white shirt goes sailing over to Killua in a clean arc. He catches it easily.

 

"Pants?"

 

"...I'll get those myself."

 

Towel still slung around his neck, Killua pads through the darkness to the other side. He presses himself deliberately into Gon's side as he looks around, smoothing the pout that surfaces when he realizes Gon's already twice as dry as he is (what is the guy, really— a furnace?) out into a poker face.

 

"You're wet," Gon observes with a twinge of amusement.

 

"Yup." The pitter-patter of water droplets hitting the floor echoes quietly; Gon's clothes are starting to soak through a little.

 

After a second Killua extracts a pair of folded pants and returns to his spot by the sofa, leaving Gon's shoulder cold and lonely. He begins to unbutton his own (dripping wet) shirt, but stops abruptly at the second button.

 

"You're staying..?" His voice is tinny.

 

"Uh, oh, um. Yeah."

 

Gon's suddenly taken a profound interest in the array of health posters taped up around the room.

 

⌘

 

No more than a minute or two later the silence is broken by a string of angry curses. Gon whips around, expecting the worst, only to see Killua fumbling around with his head and arms caught up in his shirt.

 

"You okay over there?" Gon asks curiously.

 

"My hair's stuck on one of the buttons," Killua hisses. He struggles some more, then drops limp.

 

"You're amazing," Gon tells him. He crosses the room in a few easy strides and, with some tugging and pulling and more cursing (from Killua's side), finally manages to wriggle the shirt off Killua's head. This leaves him, well, without a shirt. A synonym for that would be _shirtless_. The gears inch along at a snail's pace in Gon's head; no shirt = shirtless = skin showing = exposed torso = skin skin skin =

 

Gon flushes.

 

Presently Killua looks quite a sight; dark blue pants hang tantalizingly low off smooth, narrow hips, hipbones jutting out sharply to cast faint shadows over milky white skin.

 

"Thanks, I think." The brazenly half-dressed (or half-naked, depending on one's perspective on the situation) boy scowls, leaning his weight on one leg and resting a hand on that deliciously prominent hip. The other goes up to the shock of mussed-up white hair crowning his head, smooths down stray tufts absentmindedly.

 

"Ah, yeah," Gon mumbles, gulps hard and tries to gather his thoughts from where they've tipped out of his ears and scattered all over the tiled floor.

 

"What?" Killua eyes him suspiciously.

 

No matter how hard he tries, Gon can't pull his gaze away from the curve of his waist. It's a beautiful waist. Objectively speaking, and also because it's _Killua's_. "Nothing." He flashes that signature goofy smile— the more contrived I'm-thinking-pure-and-innocent-thoughts-I- _swear_ version.

 

"Huh." Killua stretches like a cat, lean muscles rippling faintly in the dim light. A yawn eases its way out of delicate, parted lips in musical accompaniment. His pants slip lower down his waist.

 

—This is all too much for Gon to handle, really. He's known this ethereal boy for two years now, but two years is not long enough a time to unlock achievements such as 'lovely, angled shoulder blades' and 'expanses of moonlit skin'. This is new. Very, very new.

 

He reaches out blindly, vision crowding over for a split second, and the next thing he knows they are kissing, colliding hungrily at an unplanned intersection point; Killua tastes like bitter chocolate and whipped cream and his mouth is soft as hell and he thinks _this must_ be _hell_ , and he a sinner because this poor kid is cold and half-naked (he can bring himself to say this now) yet Gon kind of really wants him all naked, frigid skin and all— Gon wants to set him on fire.

 

(But burning bridges can wait another day, there are more pressing matters for the two to attend to.)

 

When Killua pulls away there is an overcast, cloudy sky in his eyes and a lingering question on his lips. "Why'd you let go? Back then, I mean." Even with his palms gently cupping Gon's face and likewise the other's tracing invisible constellations down the small of his back Killua remains fairly composed, albeit a trifle breathless.

 

What was it again..? Oh, yeah.

 

"You know the saying, 'if you love her, let her go'?" Gon chuckles sheepishly, turning into Killua's palm and nosing at it playfully. "So it was like, I figured, since you _sounded_ like you wanted to fall, or go, or whatever, I'd let ya."

 

For the first time in a week Killua lets out a genuine laugh. And then a few hundred more, for good measure.

 

"You. Are. Always. So. Full. Of. Bullshit," he scoffs, puncturing each word with a pinch to Gon's cheeks. Gon winces; the other boy merely presses their foreheads together, scrunching his brows up. "Also, are you saying that you love me?"

 

Gon takes advantage of their leveled heights to kiss the tip of Killua's nose.

 

"Yup."

 

Killua goes bright red in an instant, and for some reason Gon blushes too, and then they are flustered and fifteen and shy first kisses all over again. This must be the rose-colored high school life so coveted by their peers, Killua thinks through a strawberry-scented haze. Gon is so busy trying to take a proper, high-definition mental photograph of the cherry-tint to his starry-eyed companion's cheeks (and lips, he notes, stomach curling) that he trips over some kind of ridge in the floor and topples forward, knocking Killua over with him.

 

Before Gon can even apologize to the wincing boy pinned underneath him Biscuit bursts in through the door in a flurry of expensive cashmere scarves, hollering at the top of her voice.

 

⌘

 

"I thought you'd died or something," Biscuit groans.

 

Killua deflates visibly at the third-party intrusion and rolls out from under Gon. "We're still alive. Unfortunately." He rubs at the back of his head awkwardly.

 

"Bisky!" Gon beams.

 

"It's good that you're fine and dandy, but I'm here to collect Mr. Zoldyck," Biscuit announces. "Your father called, Killua. They want you to see your private physician."

 

"Ughhhhhh." Killua, who'd stood up previously, collapses dramatically back onto the floor and hides his face in Gon's shoulder. Instinctively Gon reaches around and pulls him closer.

 

"I fell into the _pool_."

 

"Not my orders, kid. Pariston sent me."

 

Killua doesn't bother replying, just slumps further into Gon's side.

 

Being the kind and generous person she is, Biscuit allows the tired boy and the _very obviously enamored_ boy a minute of peace, but necessity calls and wins over her sympathetic heart in the end.

 

"I'll take you to the general office," she says, turning on her heel and making to leave.

 

"Uhh, Bisky—"

 

"For the thousandth time, it's _Ms. Krueger_ when we're in school premi—"

 

"—I think he fell asleep."

 

"Oh."

 

Gon laughs bashfully and maneuvers Killua around until he's got him curled safely in his arms, princess style. Despite the fact that Killua's got a few centimeters on him in terms of height, Gon finds he's able to pick the head-lolling boy up with minimal effort.

 

"I'll take him to the Zoldyck estate when he wakes up?" He offers.

 

Biscuit can't help the faint smile that teases at the corners of her mouth.

 

"You better get him there in one piece then, Mr. Freecss."

 

⌘

 

Killua's exceedingly long nap starts in the nurse's office and ends in his massive bedroom. 

 

Naturally, when he wakes up he has questions. The butlers, having anticipated this, station Tsubone outside his room to ensure that he gets his answers (and doesn't leave without their knowing).

 

His first question is: "where's Gon?"

 

"He dropped you off here and left," Tsubone smiles cheerily at him.

 

"What about the doctor's appointment? My brother and his creep accomplice staying over? Where are they?"

 

"You were sleeping so fitfully none of us could bear to wake you up, so we've rescheduled your appointment to Saturday. And Young Master Illumi and his friend have left to tour the world and scam rich people of their money, it seems."

 

"That guy's not his _friend_. Illumi said so himself," Killua interjects.

 

"All right, if you say so."

 

Only later does Killua discover the crumpled piece of paper in his pocket.

 

_Had to leave 'cos it was getting late, sorry! I hope your day turned out a little better in the end._

_Gon_

_P.S. Your sleeping face was **very cute**_

 

Killua stares at it for ten excruciatingly long seconds, then throws it into the fireplace.

 

Afterwards he phones Gon and tells him thank you. And fuck you. And then thank you again. 

**Author's Note:**

> for more high school shitfests, check out the rest of the trainwreck, the ephemeral series!  
> congratulations @ myself for writing your first ever over 3k fic *throws confetti at the sun*  
> on another note june break is ending in one (1) literal actual real week so i don't think i'll be doing much writin after that lmao  
> isn't that sad  
> i'm sad  
> anyway, thanks for readin! if ya liked it leave a kudo or a comment or don't, whatever floats your boat really
> 
> have a good one


End file.
